


The Slightest Bit Less

by Orianne (morganya)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-11
Updated: 2002-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/Orianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to remedy the fact that there aren't nearly as many soppy romance stories about Colin as there should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Slightest Bit Less

Debra was spring cleaning. Colin was puttering around the kitchen, finishing dinner and hearing her upstairs. This was something they did whenever they had some time off; one day of frantic cleaning, followed by days of sloth.

He went upstairs to get her. She was kneeling over a box with her back turned to him. He walked over to her, the floorboards creaking, and touched her back.

Debra tilted her head back and smiled. “You're such a pack rat. I've found things in here that must be twenty years old.”

”It's just part of my charm,” Colin said. “The place looks good. Want some dinner?”

“Mmmm. Yes. Did you clean out the garage?”

“About an hour ago.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. And Luke got to Tommy's house okay?”

He nodded. “Those kids are going to be so full of sugar and pizza by tomorrow, I'll be surprised if Luke doesn't come home in a wheelbarrow.”

“Well, at least he's getting away from us old fogeys for a night.” She sighed and poked around in the box. Suddenly she began giggling. “Is this yours?” She held up a green and orange blazer. Colin took it and held it against his chest. It was too small for him now but he remembered it; it had been a thrift store purchase during his starving theater school days.

“I think it is.”

“Colin, that is _hideous_. We have to get rid of it.”

“I can still wear it.” He began to smile. “I can take you out on the town.” He tried to put the blazer on, but it was too tight around the shoulders. Not to mention he'd put on some weight. “Well, maybe not.” He gave it back to her.

“I don't even think the Salvation Army would want that thing.” Still giggling, she looked in the box again. “What's this thing?” She picked out a velvet case and opened it. “Oh, Colin. This is just...Where did you get this?”

He felt his pulse thudding slowly. He took the case from her. He knew what it was before he even looked inside; a white and yellow gold men's bracelet, with ornate onyx squares. The white gold curly-cued over the yellow gold. He took it out; it was heavy in his hand, the links folding over each other easily. The metal was cold.

“Did someone give that to you?” his wife said.

“Years ago,” Colin said softly, running his thumb over the bottomless onyx. “It was a graduation present. From a friend.”

He remembered himself in his second year of theater school. He was verging on twenty-one, living in a third floor walkup, working part-time at a comic book store, and auditioning for any play he could get his hands on.

It was October. He was trying out for his friend Will's senior project, a self-conscious, artsy play. It was Will's baby.

He didn't doubt he'd get a part; he was friends with the director and he was a hard worker. It didn't matter what the play was.

He was sitting with Will, watching the actors come in. The audition was going on in one of the dance studios; mirrors lined the walls. Chairs were set up along the sides; people sprawled on them or sat on the floor, studying the sheets Will had passed out.

Will poked his shoulder. “Catch her.”

“Who?”

“The girl in the black.”

Colin looked. The girl in question was about five six and dark-haired. Though she was in the requisite sensitive-artist getup of black long-sleeved shirt, long black skirt and black boots, Colin could tell, even at a distance, that the skirt was real velvet and the boots were suede. Her hair was nearly the same color as her clothing; it slid down over her shoulder in a sheath. She settled into one of the chairs languidly.

“Sophie something,” Will whispered to him. “She takes cabs to come to class every day. Totally French. _French_ French.”

“She's pretty.” Colin said noncommittally.

“And taken.” Will said. He sighed. “Check out the rock on her hand.”

Colin looked. The girl was resting her chin on her left hand. Even from where he was sitting, he could see the glint of the diamond ring.

“Lucky bastard,” Will muttered. “You better move before people see you with me. I don't want to be accused of favoritism.”

Colin felt inclined to point out that half the people auditioning were Will's friends, but he stood up and smiled. He went over to the corner of the room, putting his elbows on his knees. He didn't look up until his name was called.

He took the monologue and walked up to the 'stage,' which meant that he stood at the front of the room and everyone around looked up.

“When you're ready, Colin,” Will said.

Colin looked at the sheet. He took a deep breath and made himself stop thinking about who was looking at him. He glanced at the words. The character description alone took up half the page. He tensed, shrank into himself, pitching his voice lower than usual.

“I was not I. I was my own. I was going for something that I didn't name. I was half out in the sun and half back. I was not I. I was not what I wanted. I was hoping after you...”

 _Why can't Will ever write a play that makes sense?_ He felt bad for the thought. At least it was somewhat poetic.

He finished the monologue and went back to his seat. The French girl, Sophie, was looking at him. _She has nice eyes_ , he thought, and gave her a small smile before he looked back at his hands.

*****

He met Ryan at the Yale Pub after he got off work. Ryan was already sitting in the usual booth, his legs stretching out into the walkway. Colin grabbed a beer and went to sit down.

“How was the day down at the salt mines?” Ryan said.

Colin lit a cigarette. “Same as usual.”

“Any head cases?”

“There's something I don't trust about middle-aged men buying Superman comics. I mean, if you're a kid and you've got bad skin, maybe comics are okay. But men my dad's age...” Colin shook his head. “There's something just wrong about that.”

“Get any new issues of Batman in?” There was a smile lurking around the corners of Ryan's mouth. “To add to your collection?”

“Oh, I don't know. Get any new types of fish in at the factory?”

Ryan groaned. “I would be deliriously happy if I never saw anything with gills ever again. Do I smell like fish?”

“No more than usual.”

“I can smell it everywhere now.”

“I always thought this city smelled vaguely fishy anyway.” Colin took a pull of beer. “How's the young girl?”

“Don't call her that. She's fine. We're going to have dinner after my set tonight.”

“How someone like that puts up with your ugly mug every day, I'll never know.”

“She's got very low standards. I've been meaning to talk to her about them, but, really, who am I to complain?” Ryan stretched, luxuriating.

“Tell her I said hello.”

“I will. You should come out with us some time. Get out of that shitty apartment of yours.”

Colin shook his head. He started to make a wisecrack, but he couldn't think of one. “No, that's all right.”

“Pat's got a sister about your age.”

Colin shook his head more vehemently. “Oh, no. I'm not getting fixed up with your girlfriend's sister. It'll be...well, it's just weird, Ryan.”

“You never _fucking go out_ ,” Ryan said. “You're going to end up alone and grumpy, and who's going to have to listen to your bitching? Me, that's who.”

Colin sighed. “I promise if I end up alone and grumpy that I will not bitch about it to you.”

“Come on, Colin.”

“Drop it, Ryan.”

Ryan shrugged and lit a cigarette. “Think you can stop by the show this week?” He took a drink of his beer.

“Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so.”

Ryan looked up from his glass. “Thank you.”

At eight o'clock, a little drunk, Colin went back to his apartment. He picked up the mail, thumped up the wooden stairs, stubbed his toe on the last step.

“Bastard,” he muttered and opened his door.

He flicked on the lights. His laundry was still piled in the corner, threatening to tip over onto the frayed blue carpet. His comic books had somehow managed to migrate into every corner of the room, even on top of the record player. An old cup of coffee sat on top of his bookcase.

“Pit,” Colin said, his voice loud in the empty room. “I live in a pit.”

He went over to the record player, moved Captain Marvel out of the way and put on Sinatra, even though he knew it was going to depress him. He kept the sound low.

“I'll only miss her when I think of her...” Sinatra sang softly.

He grabbed the coffee cup off the bookcase and went into the kitchenette to wash it. He was running out of dishwashing liquid; he had to smack the bottom of the bottle to get it out.

“I'll only miss her when some stranger laughs, cause it's still her laugh my heart hears...”

The coffee had stained the cup. Colin rubbed at it, but no matter how hard he tried, the porcelain stayed the color of rotten teeth.

“Maybe in time, I guess, the longing will grow the slightest bit less...”

Colin let the water out of the sink. It swirled away, gray and greasy. When it was gone, he stayed over the sink, feeling the old familiar emptiness coming back to him.

“I bet I'll forget her completely, in about a hundred years.”

He wound up getting three parts in Will's play: We, They, and You. All the characters had either pronouns or numbers as names. The French girl, Sophie, was playing It and Five.

“We need to have a read-through next week,” Will said to him, as they were walking to their History of Art class.

“Mmm. That'd be good.” Colin said.

“I hate to do this, you know, but could we have it at your place?”

Colin looked at him. Four other people in the cast, plus Will, all crammed into his apartment didn't sound that appealing. “Was there something wrong at the studios?”

Will looked embarrassed. “Well, um, the only time everyone can get together is on Tuesday, and everything but Studio D's booked, and Studio D...Studio D smells like piss.”

“It does a little.”

“I can't have it at my place, Col. My roommate's having his birthday party that night and the place'll be packed. I mean, if you can't do it...”

“I can do it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” It wouldn't be so bad, Colin told himself. All he had to do was clean up a little. And put up with having a bunch of people invading his space for a few hours. _Dammit, Mochrie, can't you say no to anyone?_

*****

His preparation consisted of making coffee and putting out cookies. Then he sat on his bed and did cryptic crosswords while he waited for people to arrive.

Will arrived first, looked around, and said, “Where are your chairs?”

Colin glanced around the apartment. The only chair he had was in the kitchenette. “Oh. Oh, yeah. I guess I don't have any.”

Will sighed.

“Well, Mr. Director?” Colin said.

Will went into the kitchenette. “Mind if I steal this chair?”

Colin looked up. “Well, I generally only use that chair when the Queen comes to visit, but I guess it'll be okay for now.”

Will shook his head and dragged out the chair. “Hey, coffee. Wow.”

“Yeah. I even splurged and got cups.“ _Oh, Jesus, make the small talk end, please, God._

Someone knocked on the door. _Thank you, Lord._

The cast trickled in: John, Kevin, Lisa and, coming in late, the French girl, Sophie.

She wore a buttery silk shirt and green woolen pants. Her hair was pulled back in a thick braid. She walked in and immediately settled herself next to Colin on the bed, saying with a laugh, “I thought I would never arrive. I thought I would come in to find you sharpening knives for me.”

She spoke English precisely, her accent light but recognizable. Her voice was husky.

“Do you want coffee or anything?” Colin said.

She shook her head. “I believe I've held things up long enough, don't you?” She smiled at him.

Read-throughs were always deadly boring, Colin found. He always wound up getting a cramp in his leg or an itchy nose and being too embarrassed to do anything about it. It was all so serious.

Sophie seemed to feel the same way he did. She kept subtly shifting on the bed. Occasionally he felt her eyes on him; he kept glancing over, and she would quirk an eyebrow or roll her eyes tolerantly at the script. He would smile and shrug back, and then look away.

She was having trouble with the dialogue. She didn't have many lines but they were constructed in such a way that they didn't resemble English or any other language. After she tried to tackle “But if I were We, and if We turned to They, then why should it matter?” for the second time, she laughed and said, “You will have to replace me soon, I think. I am not good at this.” She smiled. “I look so foolish.”

“You'll get the hang of it.” Will said. “It just takes practice.”

“Perhaps I can stand quietly on the stage and look, what is the word, like a picture...?”

“Picturesque?” Colin said.

“Yes!” She clapped his shoulder. “You understand. Shall I try it again?”

When the read-through ended and everyone piled out, Colin started gathering up the discarded paper cups from the floor.

“It was good for you to let us come here,” Sophie said from the door. “Do you need help?”

Colin looked around. There were cups lying around and his ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts; otherwise everything looked okay. “No, but thank you.”

She looked around the room. “All right, but a man's home is his castle,” she said. “And this castle looks as though it was attacked by barbarians.” He laughed but didn't answer. She waved at him. “Thank you, Colin.” Then she left, her shoes tapping on the stairs.

Colin fell immediately, blindly and crazily in love.

*****

Three weeks into rehearsal, he woke up not feeling right. He chalked it up to stress and skipped his first class, thinking he'd be fine by noon. However, by noon whatever it was had migrated into his entire body and he could barely work up the energy to blink.

He called in sick to work and tried to think of a good way to tell Will he was missing rehearsal. Will was getting more and more nuts as things progressed. _I wouldn't be surprised if I have to go in anyway,_ Colin thought grimly. _Jesus, it's cold in here._

It took two tries before he dialed Will's number correctly.

“Hello?” Will said.

“Hello?” Colin said.

“Who's this?”

Colin stared at the phone receiver. _What the hell...Oh, yeah, I called him. Get it together, Mochrie._ “It's Colin.”

“Christ, you sound terrible. You're not coming to rehearsal, are you?”

“Um,” Colin said. His teeth were chattering. He clamped them together. “I could.” _Damn._

“ _Don't come to rehearsal._ I don't need you getting everyone else sick. I'll go over blocking with you next week.”

“Uh.”

“All right. Go to bed or something. Get better.”

“Uh.” Colin hung up. _That was surprisingly easy._ He went back to bed. For a moment the blanket felt more like a heavy block of ice than ragged acrylic. He considered throwing it off, but realized it would take too much effort and just went to sleep.

He woke up from a nightmare having something to do with robot spiders because of a pounding echoing through his room. He was sweaty and his head hurt. It took two minutes before he realized someone was knocking on the door. It didn't let up.

“Mmmph. Go 'way.” Colin said. The knocking continued.

“Frigging...All _right_.” He dragged himself out of bed and went to the door. He opened it, planning on giving the person on the other side the scolding of a lifetime, but the person turned out to be Sophie. Colin felt the fight go out of him.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello.”

She smiled up at him. He smiled back as well as he could.

She said, “I heard you were ill. I know I should have called you, but your phone...I did not know the number.” She held out a steel thermos. “When I was ill, my mother would make this for me and I would feel better. I thought you might take it and feel better as well.”

Colin took the thermos. He could feel the heat from whatever was inside. “Thank you. What is it?”

“Tea. Honey and lemon tea, but with whiskey.” She waved her hand. Once again, he caught the glint of her engagement ring. “Very simple.”

“Oh, good.” Colin said. He stifled a sneeze. “Booze works.” He smiled at her again.

She clicked her tongue. “You look very sick. I won't make you stand in the hall any more. I will see you when you are better?”

He nodded. She patted his shoulder and quickly departed. Colin shut the door.

He padded into the kitchen and sloshed the tea into a mug. The liquid was the color of amber, steaming hot. He took a swig. It was almost too hot; it was difficult to swallow.

He felt the alcohol spreading warmth through his stomach. She was right; he did feel better. He went back to bed, where he wondered what the hell was going on.

It was possible that she was just being friendly. She was engaged, he was nothing special...But if she was just being friendly, there was nothing to keep him from being friendly back. He went back to sleep.

*****

When the virus-induced fog lifted, Colin found himself standing by the phone, staring at it, feeling like he was in high school again. It wasn't like he'd never had a date before. He'd done pretty well for himself in high school, if he did say so himself, but since he'd entered university and thrown himself into 'trying to be an actor,' he'd slipped a little bit social-wise. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a real date.

 _But this isn't a date,_ he reassured himself. _It's two friends and colleagues meeting up for dinner. Not a date._

He picked up the phone and dialed Sophie's number. He hoped she wouldn't be home. He hoped the line would be busy.

After two rings, Sophie picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he said, his voice casual. “It's Colin Mochrie.”

“Oh, Colin. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” He paused. “I believe I still have that thermos thing. I was just wondering if you wanted to come pick it up.”

“I should. What time is better for you?”

“Um, seven thirty, Friday? Maybe you'd like to have dinner, as long as you're here?”

“In what restaurant?”

“Uhh...” He had no idea what to say. “I think most of the restaurants here aren't terribly good.” _Oh, smooth._ “I can cook a little.”

“That sounds nice. Friday night, then. I will see you in rehearsal tomorrow.” She hung up. He sighed and wiped the sweat off of his palms.

*****

He figured Kraft Dinner wouldn't cut it, so he ventured out to Safeway on Friday afternoon. He bought steak, lettuce, dressing, out-of-season cherries so ripe the red was shading into black. He wondered what kind of food she was used to eating.

Sitting on his bed at seven fifteen, shaking his head at himself, he realized that he had no idea what to say when she arrived. Would he shove the thermos at her and say, “We eat now!” Lean against the doorframe in a smoking jacket (not that he had any), smile seductively and murmur, “ _Bonjour, ma petite_?” Run away?

Someone knocked on the door. The time for flight had passed. He got up and opened the door.

Sophie stood casually in the door, her hands clasped in front of her. She was wearing a red woolen coat that brushed the tops of her boots. She looked perversely innocent, a refugee from some adult fairy tale.

“Come on in,” Colin said. “Thanks for coming.”

“Ah, but I don't get asked to dinner very often.” She walked in. “It smells good in here. May I hang this up?”

“Sure.” He pointed to the coat rack. He did not want to see her fiddling with the large blackberry-shaped buttons on her coat, did not want to see her shake it off like a second skin. He went for the thermos. He handed it to her and she tucked it into her purse. Then she kept looking at him, her black eyes teasing but kind.

“I'll get dinner,” he said. “Um, would you like to take the chair?” He pointed into the kitchenette.

She shook her head. “Thank you, but...would you like to sit with me on the floor? I always enjoyed that, ever since I was a little girl. Then we can be eye to eye and you will not have to look up my nose while you eat.” She laughed.

“That sounds all right.” He ducked into the kitchenette.

“Do you need help?”

“Thanks, I think I've got it.”

“May I look around then?”

“Go ahead.” He took the steaks out from under the broiler and poked them with a fork. A little rare, but that was okay. One of them was sticking to the pan.

“Crap, crap, _crap_ ,” Colin whispered, trying to lift it out.

“You like Frank Sinatra?” Sophie's voice floated in. “I found your records.”

“Yeah,” Colin said, managing to get the meat unstuck. He put them on the plain white plates the apartment had come with, then spooned the salad, the lettuce glossy with dressing, next to them. The bottle of wine was already uncorked.

“Sinatra has such a voice,” she said. “So rich.”

“I started listening to him in high school,” Colin said, pouring the wine. “Back when everyone else was listening to Aerosmith.”

“I do not know them.”

“It's better that way.” He looked at the plates. “Want to eat now?”

“As you wish.” He heard the rustle of her skirt as she settled on the floor. He brought the plates out, then brought her the wine.

She sat cross-legged on his carpet, looking up at him as he gave her the glass. “You made all this?”

“Well, I didn't make the wine.”

“Many men don't know how to cook,” she said approvingly.

“I just got used to doing it,” he said. She folded a lettuce leaf over with her fork and brought it to her mouth. He said, “So tell me how you decided to come to Canada.”

She told him her history in between bites. She was from Lyons, had gone to boarding school in Switzerland. She had taken a few years off to travel around Europe. She was three years older than he was. She was going to theater school 'because I wanted to.' She had chosen to come to Canada because she had never been before 'and for the old theaters.' Finally she paused and looked at him expectantly.

He didn't think he had that much to tell, so he just said, “Want dessert?”

She nodded. He took the plates and stuck them in the sink, then brought the dessert out. It was the only thing he had splurged on, besides the wine. It was dark melted chocolate, mixed with cognac, surrounded by the cherries. She looked at it and laughed.

“My, but your girlfriend is lucky to have you, who can cook this way.” She picked up a cherry and expertly dipped it into the chocolate.

“I don't have a girlfriend.” Colin said. He'd never had much of a sweet tooth; he contented himself with picking up a cherry and toying with it, unsure whether to eat it or not.

She touched her napkin to her mouth. Her lips seemed redder, darkened by juice. “Ah, that's such a shame. It is so difficult to get to know someone here.”

“Oh, but you're engaged,” he said, more lightly than he felt. “You don't have to worry about things like that.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, biting into another cherry. “Yes, but he is so far away, no? It is not easy to feel like an old engaged woman here.”

“Oh,” he said. His heart rate picked up.

“I don't know why I complain. I am probably not as interesting as the other girls here. Not as pretty, I think.”

“That's not true,” Colin said. “You're very pretty.”

She looked at him. “Then why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were slick with cherry juice. He pulled back, still tasting them.

She touched her hair nervously. “Well?”

“That was nice,” he said.

She looked hurt. He said, “I think I can do better, though.”

“Perhaps.”

*****

“Most men just talk,” she said to him, hours later, resting her sharp little chin on his chest. “They have nothing to say, but they talk. You have more to say, but you don't talk.”

“I talk a fair amount.” Colin said sleepily.

“Mmm.” She draped an arm across his stomach. “What should we do about the play?”

“Hell Week coming up,” Colin said. “It might be awkward if...” _If this got out._

She smiled. Her eyes were mischievous. “But I might come over for dinner again?”

He curled his arm around her. His eyes began to close. “Whenever you like.”

*****

Two days before the play went up, Colin went down to see Ryan perform at Shine. The man at the door smirked at him as he paid.

Colin never felt comfortable in strip clubs. It seemed bizarre to him that the audience didn't have to take their clothes off too. As it was, most of the audience appeared the same as an audience watching Macbeth. Except for the drunks.

He settled into one of the tables near the back and lit a cigarette, looking at the stage. Two long platforms jutted out into the room, surrounded by tables and chairs. There were no women onstage at the moment.

“Hi,” he heard a female voice breathe.

Colin looked up. The woman was tall, busty and didn't appear to be wearing much. “Oh, hello,” Colin said.

“Would you like me—”

“No, thanks,” he answered, politely but firmly. She moved off. Colin exhaled. _The things I do for my friends._

He found his thoughts drifting back to Sophie. They hadn't been able to spend much time with each other the past week, between classes, his job and getting the show ready, there wasn't much time for her to slide into his apartment. He couldn't wait until the show was over. It was torture to keep having to pretend they weren't sleeping together.

He wanted to tell someone. He wanted to get roaring drunk and say, “Look what I got!” He wasn't sitting in a crummy strip club just to give Ryan support. Ryan was really the only one who it was safe to tell, and though Colin knew the resultant conversation would quickly turn into an X-rated version of “Colin has a girlfriend, Colin has a girlfriend,” it gave his ego a boost.

He looked up from the table and saw Ryan shambling onto the stage, dressed in the 'uniform' the club made him wear: a tuxedo easily a size too small for him, its lapels gone shiny with age. Ryan said he had to wear the thing because the club owner thought tuxedos were classy.

Ryan had confidence on stage, more like a thirty-five year old man than a skinny nineteen year old. He moved as if he was unconscious of the fact that he was wearing a hideous tuxedo. He stepped out to the front of the stage, holding the microphone.

“Nice to see everyone here. I'm Ryan Stiles, and they've just told me that all the girls have gone home for the night,” Ryan said cheerfully. “So for the next six hours, it's just you and me.”

The audience stirred. There were a few scattered nervous laughs.

“I'm just kidding. The first act'll be out in a few minutes. I'm just here to see that everyone's happy. So, on the times when I'm not up here busting my hump in front of you, I work in a fish factory. Every day I go in there and I see this face.” Ryan sucked in his cheeks, put the mike back in its stand and waved his hands below his chin. “But then I say goodbye to the boss and I start cutting up marine life. You don't know how bad fish—”

“I want tits!” A gray-haired man in a business suit pounded his fist on the table to emphasize his point. Colin saw Ryan's head tilt. The only indication of anger was in the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“You'd like tits, sir? Well, I can recommend you to a good doctor, but otherwise you're on your own.”

The response got a laugh, but the damage was done. Colin, wincing in empathy, watched Ryan deflect an increasingly loud and abusive crowd for the next five minutes. Throughout it all Ryan remained cool and aloof, but Colin could see his eyes dulling under the barrage.

He found Ryan at the bar after the show. He'd changed out of the monkey suit back into his normal white T-shirt and jeans; now he hunched over his beer, a lit cigarette in his free hand.

Ryan sensed he was there before he said anything. Without turning around, he said, “So you saw all that?” He finished the beer in one swallow. “Let's just leave, all right? I don't want to see any of these fuckers again.”

Colin just managed to keep up with Ryan's stride. Finally Ryan stopped and slumped down on a bench. Colin sat beside him. The cold wind whipped at his face, but Ryan didn't even appear to notice; he just ducked his head and lit another cigarette.

“At least Pat wasn't there tonight,” Ryan said. “It's bad enough you had to sit through that crap.”

“I thought you handled it okay.” Colin said.

Ryan leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “It's not like they were saying anything I haven't heard before.” He crushed his cigarette out and immediately lit a new one, guarding against the wind. “I'm so sick of this, Colin. I walk up on stage with fish guts under my nails every night and try to tell lame jokes while everyone in the audience screams at me. All they care about is watching some poor girl from Newfoundland shake her ass. And the asses in that place aren't all that great.” He scowled. “I don't want to be fifty years old and still be introducing strippers. Fuck, this is a shitty way to live. You know my parents have sent me money three times this year? The way things are going, I might have to move back home. Maybe I should just go into the Air Force like my brothers. It'd be a lot easier on everyone.”

“Don't,” Colin said.

“Give me one reason why.”

“Because you're good at it.”

Ryan looked at him suspiciously. Colin said again, “You're good at it.”

“I'm _all right_ at it.” Ryan shrugged. “And I do get to see naked girls and get paid.”

“See? Now that's a nice perk.” Colin stood up. “I'll buy you a drink.”

“I'm not a charity case yet, Colin. I can buy my own drink.”

“I know you can buy your own drink, but I'm thirsty and it's really cold out here. And booze is the only way to motivate you. Big nose,” he added.

Ryan smiled and stood up. “That's more like it.”

It was, Colin decided, not a good night to say to Ryan, “Guess what happened to me?” It felt tasteless; in any event, Ryan was too frustrated and upset to really listen. It could wait.

The play went up without incident. Colin asked everyone he knew to come; it was relatively easy for him to forget his shyness when he was trying to get someone to buy tickets. He even managed to guilt-trip Ryan and Pat into coming.

When the show ended and there was a perfunctory striking of the set (there wasn't much to strike, just an unpainted piece of wood that acted as a backdrop), they congregated at one of the bars for the after show party. Colin was ready to leave within ten minutes. He grabbed a beer and headed through a sea of bodies to Ryan and Pat.

“Great job tonight, Colin,” Pat yelled over the noise.

“Thank you,” Colin yelled back, thinking, not for the first time, that Ryan and Pat together looked like an exclamation point—Ryan was huge and all sharp angles, Pat was small and curvy. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Sophie was standing to his side, holding an empty wine glass, smiling, but with a look of encroaching panic in her eyes. She looked as overwhelmed as he felt.

“Oh, hi, Soph,” he said, as off-handedly as he could at top volume, pulling her into the circle. He gave her a surreptitious back rub. “Um, these are my friends, Ryan and Pat, this is Sophie Durand, she was in the play with me.”

“Hello,” Ryan and Pat said in unison.

“Hello,” Sophie said, and then, smiling at Pat, “Oh, I love your blouse. It is so soft-looking.”

Pat smiled back, self-consciously touching the collar of her dark gray shirt. “Thank you. I like your shoes.” She pointed. “Where did you get them?”

Colin felt his eyes start to glaze over. Ryan shrugged at him over Pat's head as Sophie began chattering at top speed about her shoes. It only took a minute or so before Sophie went with Pat to the bar. Ryan was silent a moment, looking after them, and then shouted, “So can you explain to me what the hell that play was about?”

“I'll give you a hundred bucks if you can figure it out. I don't even know.” Colin swallowed the rest of his beer and lit a cigarette. “Memorizing those lines almost killed me.”

“At least you got to work with that girl every day.” Ryan inclined his head towards the bar. “Man. She's gorgeous.”

Colin raised his eyebrows. Ryan said, “Well, I can look, can't I? I'm not dead. Pat looks good tonight, doesn't she?”

“Yeah, she looks nice.”

“So, did you ever think about asking Sophie out?” Ryan said. “I mean, you worked with her, she seems to like you.”

Colin glanced over at the bar. Sophie and Pat were still talking to each other; Sophie was gesturing with her free hand.

He opened his mouth, just about to say, “Yeah, I did,” but before he could speak he found himself reconsidering. It was a new sensation; he had never had any reason to keep anything from Ryan. But he found himself wanting not to say anything, to have something that was his.

Colin shook his head. “No. I haven't got a chance. Anyway, did you see her ring? She's engaged.”

”What can you do?” Ryan shrugged. Sophie and Pat came back to them.

“Ryan,” Pat said, pointing to her watch, “I need to get back home. It was nice to meet you, Sophie. Good job, you guys.”

“All right. Nice job, Colin. Nice to meet you,” Ryan said to Sophie.

“Bye. Thanks for coming.” Colin watched Ryan move through the crowd, one hand on Pat's back. When they had disappeared, he turned to Sophie and said, “Want to get out of here?”

It was too cold to walk back to his apartment, so they hailed a cab. The silence of the interior was a relief.

Sophie slid over the leather seats, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Your friends seem nice,” she said. “You and he look alike.”

Colin looked at her. She was trying not to smile. He said, “I like to think I'm much better looking than Ryan.”

“Well, that is true.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Do you know when I first decided that I liked you?”

He shook his head. She said, “It was that first day. When you read the script.”

“You know I had no idea what I was talking about.”

“Yes.” She laughed. “But you were so...committed to it. It was very attractive.”

“I was just showing off for you.”

“Liar.” She poked his stomach. “You wouldn't even look at me the first week.”

“I only looked when you were doing something else.”

The cab pulled to a stop outside Colin's apartment building. He paid and they headed upstairs.

*****

It only took a few days before she'd moved in. It was unofficial; she still had her apartment, which he'd never seen. But she'd taken to coming to his place after class and just not going home. It was still a shock to Colin to come home from work and find her quietly studying on his bed.

He couldn't believe any of it was real. He couldn't keep himself from running his hands over her to check she was there. He kept waking up at night to see if she was there beside him. In idle moments he wondered if her family or her friends or her fiancé were trying to get in touch with her, but it seemed too removed from his life to really think about.

“I brought this back from my apartment,” she said to him when he walked in the door. “I thought you wouldn't mind.”

“What is it?” He moved over to the bed, where she sat cross-legged, book on her lap. She gestured behind her.

“It's a duvet,” she said. She sounded nervous, and he didn't know why. She brought it out. It was the color of wet moss. He snaked his hand out and touched it; his hand sank into the eiderdown. It was nicer and, he could tell, much more expensive than his old ragged blue blanket. And it felt new. He knew she didn't like his sleeping arrangements that much. She kept calling them 'bohemian.' He guessed she must have bought the blanket and brought it back with a story so flimsy it was almost amusing. She threaded her hair through her fingers, keeping her eye on him.

He kept stroking the duvet, idly, as though it was a kitten. He'd never felt anything this soft. He could tell her that he would have bought a new blanket if she'd asked him, but the fact was that she could afford to buy better things than he could. It seemed silly to him to get into a huff over a blanket.

Colin put a cigarette in his mouth. She obligingly reached over to the bedside table, struck a match and lit it for him.

“Do you like it?” she said.

“It's a lot nicer than what I'm used to.”

“But think how good it will be.” She looked at the bed. ”We can lie in on Saturdays and be lazy.”

“Mmm.” He unfolded the duvet. “This is all right.”

“Oh, good. I didn't want to take it back—to the apartment.” He let her comment pass.

*****

She began to redecorate his apartment, so slowly he almost didn't notice. After the duvet, linens and pillows appeared, then a red and gold carpet. She brought in new pots, new pans, heavy ceramic plates. She brought in food: rich dark chocolate, fresh fish and pasta, red wine with the texture of velvet. He began to put on weight.

“You're fattening me up,” he said, more than once, in mock-despair. “I'm going to get stuck coming in the door one of these days.”

“It's a sign of good breeding.” She ran her fingers over his stomach. “They will say, 'Look at that successful man. He must have very good taste.'” And then she would move, catlike, into the kitchen and get him a cup of coffee or some wine.

It was January. He stood by the window looking at the sky. It was an abnormally warm day; the sky was deep blue, the sun filtered through the wispy clouds. He turned to look at Sophie, who was sitting on the bed flipping through the newspaper.

“Why don't we go for a walk?” he said.

She looked up. “Now?”

He nodded. “We could go down to the park or just walk around.”

She creased the newspaper between two hands. Colin said reassuringly, “I don't think we'll run into anybody.” They were still keeping the relationship under wraps; it surprised Colin how easy it was to do.

“All right,” she said softly, and went to get her coat.

When they got outside, Colin found himself blinking in the sunlight. He wondered how long it had been since he'd actually gone outside for more time than it took to get to work or to class. He felt like he had been in his apartment forever. He linked his arm with Sophie's. She felt unnaturally stiff, almost tense. He smiled at her and began walking.

They walked into the breeze, which made Colin nervous; his hair seemed to be growing thinner lately, and having it blown about made it more obvious. Sophie was looking at the ground.

He began talking, about nothing in particular, pointing out landmarks. She didn't answer. He started to get annoyed.

“It's a lovely day, isn't it?” he said, somewhat desperately.

A truck backfired somewhere in the distance. She gave a short scream and grabbed his arm, digging her fingers into him.

He stopped walking and looked down at her. She looked lost and miserable. He realized what was wrong. She was scared of Vancouver itself. Sophie didn't go out; she just shopped and got into cabs. For all her outward sophistication, she was a small town girl. She wasn?t interested in cities themselves. Frustrated, Colin looked away.

She grabbed his hand. “I'm all right, really.”

“No, you're not,” he said gently. “Do you want to go back?”

She nodded. He sighed and turned around.

“Colin, I'm sorry.”

He shook his head. They didn't talk the rest of the way back to the apartment.

Sitting on the floor, watching Sophie go through the newspaper again, Colin again felt the resentment. It was all due to stagnation, on his part as much as hers. When he first entered school, he'd been hungry to learn everything there was to know about theatre, to do everything that could possibly be done. Sophie studied but she didn't really try out for parts, never really got involved in plays. It was infectious; he felt like all he wanted to do was stay in his apartment with her, not audition, not study, not do anything but lie next to her. He felt like he was going crazy.

“I'm going out for a bit,” he said, standing up. She looked up, maybe a little guiltily, and nodded.

He went outside and just started walking. Before he knew it, he'd walked to the student centre on campus. He headed straight for the bulletin board. There were usually a few notices about auditions stapled to it.

Sure enough, there was a new notice: Improv Group Seeks New Members. Interested, he wrote down the contact information. He wasn't familiar with the name of the guy running the group, but it sounded good.

By the time he got back to his apartment, the anger had evaporated. He'd let himself get complacent and it was up to him to fix it.

When he opened the door, Sophie was pacing back and forth on the rug. She looked at him worriedly.

He moved over to her and kissed her. “I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry—”

“We're both a couple of sorry bastards.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “Want to dance?” He waltzed her around the small apartment to some invisible tune, holding her hand and counting softly under his breath.

*****

The improv group was called Sticks and Stone. There were about ten people auditioning, plus the six people in the group. They wasted no time dispensing with the warm-ups and getting into the two-person scenes. Colin found himself with a heavy-set woman named Angie.

“Do you guys want a relationship or a location?”

Angie looked at him. “Location?”

Colin shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay. You're...on a life raft. Whenever you're ready.”

Colin wasn't sure if it was a gift or some weird genetic quirk, but it was almost second nature for him to turn off his self-consciousness when he was on stage. He leaned into Angie, listening.

“You know, you didn't _have_ to eat the oars,” Angie said.

“I was sick of eating seaweed. We've been out here for six months and there are only so many ways you can eat seaweed.”

“I thought you liked seaweed. I spent long hours sautéing, baking, pureeing that seaweed for you, mister, at least you could say thank you.”

“Oh, okay,” Colin snapped. ”Thank you. _Thank you._ There's nothing I like more than roasting in the sun, eating flambéed seaweed. I mean, I really should be asking you why we brought the cooking equipment instead of, I don't know, a compass?”

“The compass clashed with the décor.”

“That's it. I'm swimming for help.”

“You can't! You'll be eaten alive by sharks!”

“I may be giving up my life, but I want to tell you this one last thing: oars taste like chicken.”

The scene ended, and Colin felt the nervousness return. He took a step back.

“All right,” the director of the group, Evan, said. “We'll be posting callbacks on the bulletin board in a couple of days. Thanks to everyone who came out today.”

Colin went home and had dinner with Sophie. On Friday he checked the board; he'd made the callbacks. Within a week of the callbacks, he was in the group.

*****

It was March. He had the day off from everything (classes, work, rehearsals) and he was sprawled on the bed doing crossword puzzles, waiting for Sophie to get home from class. Between his job, classes and Sticks and Stone, free time was rare and he'd begun to savor it when it came.

He was happier when he had things to keep him occupied. He had truly hated the aimlessness of a few months ago; now that he felt like he had a purpose, it was easier to relax.

Someone knocked on his door. Thinking Sophie had forgotten her key, he rushed to answer it, only to find Ryan standing there.

“Oh,” Colin said. “Hi, Ryan.”

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic, why don't you?” Ryan said, grinning. “You busy?”

“Not right now. What's going on?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to check in. Haven't seen you around that much.”

“You know. It's been pretty busy around here.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Ryan's eyes widened at the sight of the apartment. Colin realized that the last time Ryan had seen it was before Sophie moved in.

“Jesus, Colin, what happened here? It looks like a Turkish harem.”

“Since when do you know what a Turkish harem looks like?”

Ryan shrugged. “Do you have any beer or anything?”

“Sure.” Colin headed into the kitchenette and rooted through the refrigerator.

Ryan looked over his shoulder into the refrigerator. “Jesus, Colin, where'd you get all this stuff? What is that, caviar?”

Colin smiled, handed him a beer and headed back into the main room. Ryan followed him.

“Are you running a drug ring or something? How'd you afford all this crap?”

Colin sat down on the bed. “Well, if you must know, I'm living with a rich woman. She bought all this stuff.”

Ryan stared at him. Colin began laughing.

Ryan took a drink of beer. “Wise ass. If you don't want to tell me, fine. I'll figure it out sooner or later.”

Colin shrugged, thinking how easy it was. Ryan knew him better than almost everyone, but Colin didn't even have to lie to fool him.

“So I have news.“ Ryan said.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I might stop playing the strip clubs.”

“Really?”

“I landed the opening act at Tickles.” Ryan shrugged. “If all goes well I could be making a hundred bucks a night.”

“Ryan, that's great.” He got off the bed and clapped Ryan's shoulder. “You deserve it.”

Ryan smiled and looked away. “Yeah, it's all right.”

“You want to go have a burger or something?”

Ryan looked tempted, but he shook his head. “Pat's mother's birthday. I've got to take Pat to the restaurant. Wearing my suit of armor.”

“They still ragging you?”

Ryan groaned. “Their dream is for Pat to go out with some doctor with a Mercedes and forty degrees. Luckily she doesn't listen to them.”

“When you're rich and famous you can laugh at them.”

“Yeah, when I'm rich and famous. In about two hundred years.” Ryan shook his head. “Anyway. I just wanted to check in with you and see how everything was.”

“Everything's good. I'll have a drink or something with you when I have more time.”

“Sure. All right. I've got to go home and get ready.” Ryan sighed. “At least Pat'll be there.” He smiled at Colin and shambled out the door.

*****

“I won't be here next week.” Sophie told him.

“Really? Where are you going?”

She paused and sat up. “At my apartment.”

Colin looked up at her. “I...what?”

“My fiancé is coming for a visit.”

Colin swallowed. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh.” It was the only thing he could think to say. “Oh.”

She moved behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Colin. It's only for a few days. I'll be back.”

She didn't understand. Her fiancé had been the furthest thing from his thoughts the past few months. Now suddenly he had become real, pushing himself forward. Colin's palms were damp with nervous sweat. He said, “It's only...”

“What?”

He didn't know what to say. _It's only that I've just realized you aren't really my girlfriend._ He said, “Never mind,” and reached for his cigarettes.

She got there before he did, putting one in her mouth and lighting it, her eyes squinting against the smoke, then handing it to him. He took it.

“When's he coming?”

“Sunday.”

“What're you two going to do?”

“He just wants to see the school.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“You sound jealous.”

Colin took a drag of his cigarette. He was jealous of the man who should be jealous of him. He sighed.

“Maybe I can meet him.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped, and stood up.

“I'm not going to tell him, if that's what you're thinking.”

“He doesn't speak English, Colin. You couldn't tell him if you tried to.”

He took his feet off the floor and leaned against the wall. “When's he coming?”

“You already asked me that.”

“Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I?”

She came back to the bed, sitting next to him. Gently she said, “It's only for a few days.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

*****

Colin knew her schedule. He knew where her classes were. It was Monday and he had been standing outside the theater building for forty-five minutes, waiting to see them. The weather had been cool earlier, but now it was cold; his fingers were going numb inside his gloves.

He'd never done anything like this before. He'd never thought he would be the guy lurking in the shadows. In the part of his mind that was still functioning, he was both amused and slightly horrified.

He wasn't going to move, though.

Finally he saw Sophie's slight frame coming towards the building. She hung on to the arm of a tall man, who Colin guessed was the fiancé. When they came closer, Colin was almost disappointed. He had expected the fiancé to be a swarthy Maurice Chevalier type. Instead he was a stocky, pale man with straw-colored hair, his face as broad and trusting as a baby's. He blinked uncomprehendingly around him, as though he were stumbling through some totally alien planet.

Colin heard Sophie chattering in French. The fiancé, when he spoke, had a soft, tentative voice. And then there was the look. Every so often the fiancé would look down at Sophie and his face would soften visibly. It was a look of pure, mute, all-encompassing love. Colin felt uncomfortable looking at it; it felt like something that should be private, that he shouldn't be witness to.

They passed him then. Sophie gave him a quick glance. He felt like a homeless person begging for change; it was the same glance that automatically voided humanity. They went inside.

Colin went home. _To hell with work, to hell with rehearsal, to hell with everything._ He lay down on the bed and turned his face to the wall.

If the fiancé had just had something obviously wrong with him, a Snidely Whiplash mustache or a cruel smile, it would have been better. But he looked like a perfectly nice, ordinary guy, and Colin felt sick. There was nothing lacking in her life. She had it all, the money, the nice fiancé, and him, Colin the good guy, Colin the sap, and whatever she didn't have she could probably take.

His entire body was tense with anger, and it scared him. For the moment, all he wanted was not to feel, to get things back to normal, to keep himself apart from everything. He didn't want to be this person.

He heard the door open. He heard her step across the floor. He felt her sit down on the bed.

“Maybe you hate me a little, now,” she said.

He didn't move. “Where is he?” His voice was surprisingly calm.

“At my apartment, asleep. He was still tired from the plane ride.”

“Okay.”

“I never told you any lies, Colin.”

“I know.” She would be graduating in a few months. She would be going home to France and getting married. She'd have her perfect life.

And Colin would be alone again.

She rubbed his back, saying, “Colin, Colin,” and he didn't want her to touch him but he didn't want her to leave, so he rolled over and flung his arm over her lap, holding her close until she pulled away.

*****

“Do you want to keep it?” Debra asked, shaking him out of the memory.

Colin looked up from the bracelet. It was the last gift Sophie had given him, the night before she'd left for good. She'd said, “I wanted to give you something you would never use.” She was right; he would never wear the bracelet. It was too gaudy, too ostentatious. But he'd hung on to it. It was the only thing he'd kept that would remind him of her. He looked down at Debra.

“Or do you want to get rid of it?” she said.

Colin shook his head. “I think...I'd like to keep it.”

He wasn't sure how Debra would react. He half-expected a flurry of questions. Instead she studied his face for a moment and said, “All right.”

The thought that she was faking the assent crossed his mind. Then he looked at her. Her eyes were clear. She simply trusted him enough not to ask.

“You know, I love you,” he said.

She smiled. “I love you, too. And I'm starving. Coming with me?”

“In a second.”

She rubbed his arm. He heard her walking down the stairs.

He looked down at the bracelet again. For a moment, he closed his hand over it, holding it tightly. Then he put it back in the case and snapped it shut, before he went to have dinner with his wife.


End file.
